


Spies Like Us

by debirlfan



Category: Airwolf
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:43:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debirlfan/pseuds/debirlfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An "undercover" op ends up under the covers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spies Like Us

Thumbs gently teasing her nipples through the fabric of her dress, Michael kissed the side of her throat, working his way slowly up her neck. He paused as his lips reached her ear, pulling back to look into her eyes. “Cait, are you sure?”

 

_Was she sure? Sure? She wasn't sure of anything any more. She wasn't even sure how she had ended up here_...

 

-*- -*- -*-

 

Spotless white suit jarringly out of place in the dank hanger, Archangel had come straight to the point of his visit. “Caitlin, I need your assistance. Markov is reportedly going to make an appearance at the Golden Sands resort this weekend. You can identify him.”

 

Before she could answer, Hawke had spoken. “Yeah, so can I. Or Dom, for that matter. So why do you need Cait?”

 

“Because I can't get you or Dominic into the Sands. It's members only.” Michael scowled, clearly uncomfortable. “Fortunately, I'm a member. Which means I can bring Caitlin in as my date.”

 

-*-

 

The dance floor was ideally located as a lookout point, and she had spent much of the evening slow dancing with Michael while watching for their quarry. A glance at the clock showed it was approaching midnight. “Looks like tonight is a wash,” she whispered into his ear.

 

“He would have been here by now,” Michael agreed, still swaying gently in time with the music, and showing no inclination to release her.

 

“We could go sit down, have another glass of wine,” Caitlin suggested.

 

He looked down at her, smiling. “Tired?”

 

“No, I just...” she glanced toward their table, the cane propped against his chair. “I thought you might... your leg...”

 

“Is fine. It's certainly not going to keep me from dancing with a beautiful woman.”

 

_Was he flirting with her?_ She fought back a laugh, chiding herself for even having the audacity to consider the possibility. He was simply keeping up the charade that had bought her admission to the Sands. _This spy game did have a certain allure. _

 

The Firm's Deputy Director was a handsome man, the glasses with the blackened left lens adding a rakish, mysterious air, rather than detracting from his appearance. From their first meeting, Caitlin had been intrigued by him. He was, however, way out of her league. The women Michael surrounded himself with were statuesque blonds and brunettes, as intelligent and educated as they were gorgeous. The likelihood of him being interested in a red-headed Texas chopper jockey was somewhere between slim and none.

 

It was, though, fun to pretend. Relaxing into his embrace, she shifted against him, and felt something against her hip. “You're armed?” she asked, surprised, wondering how he had gotten a weapon past security.

 

He chuckled. “No, I'm not.”

 

It took her a moment to digest that, and realize just what it was that was hard against her thigh. When she did, she felt her face flush. “Oh God, I'm sorry! I didn't think... I didn't expect...” Caitlin bit her lip, entirely at a loss for words to continue.

 

It was obvious that he was amused by her discomfort. “You didn't expect me to react to being pressed against you most of the night? Just how old do you think I am?” he teased, grin taking the edge from his words.

 

“Michael, you spend your days with women like Samantha and Marella. I'm not crazy enough to think that I --”

 

Turning serious, he cut her off. “Cait, don't underestimate yourself. You're every bit as attractive as any of them. Maybe more so. If it wasn't that Hawke and Santini would shoot me...”

 

Impulsively, she rose onto her toes and brought her lips briefly to his. After a moment's hesitation, he bent to return the kiss, holding it until she broke away, both of them gasping. “What if we don't tell them?” she suggested, shocked at her own audacity.

 

“Tell who?” Michael asked.

 

“String and Dom.”

 

He gave her an appraising look, a slight nod as he made a decision. “Let's go upstairs.”

 

-*- -*- -*-

 

_Was she sure?_ “I'm sure,” she whispered, “Are you?”

 

Instead of answering, his lips found hers, and he edged her toward the bed.

 

She took the initiative and loosened his tie, sliding the strip of silk from around his neck and tossing it into a chair. He released her long enough to shed his jacket, and she started unbuttoning his vest. Soon, it joined the jacket.

 

He reached over and toggled the switch on the lamp, plunging the room into near total darkness. “That's better.”

 

Cait would have asked him why he turned off the light, but his mouth was on hers again, insistent, and his hands were behind her, tugging the zipper of her dress downwards. Questions forgotten, she released his belt, and pulled his shirt free, hands slipping beneath it, finally rewarded as she found bare skin.

 

They quickly divested themselves of their remaining clothing, and slid under the covers. He leaned over her, trailing kisses along her collarbone. Her hands explored him, touch revealing what sight could not. Arms, shoulders, back, chest. His body was hard, lean, more muscular than she would have guessed.

 

“Come here,” she murmured, urging him upwards. He did as she asked, working his way up to nip lightly at her earlobe. She sighed her approval.

 

“Feel good?” he asked.

 

“Mmm,” she answered, “But these have got to go.” The frame of his glasses was scraping her cheek, and she reached for them, slipping them from him and depositing them on the table beside the bed. Caitlin sensed the sudden tension ripple through him and wondered if that had been a mistake, if she had broken an unwritten rule. She was about to apologize when she felt him slowly relax, perhaps realizing that the darkness of the room concealed as much as the glasses.

 

His hands stroked her breasts, thumbs tweaking her nipples. It felt so good. She wanted to make him feel as good as she did. “Roll over,” she urged, marginally surprised when he complied without protest. Pushing the blankets out of the way, she straddled his legs, inching lower as she kissed her way down his chest. His fingers tangled in her hair and the low sounds he was making suggested that her ministrations were having the desired effect.

 

As her lips descended down his torso towards their ultimate destination, her hands caressed his hips, his thighs. It was only Michael's sudden intake of breath that brought conscious awareness of the deep, jagged line her fingertips were idly tracing. The harsh scar extended down his leg beyond her reach. Inwardly, she cringed. He might not want to admit it, but that cane he carried was more than just a fashion accessory.

 

She took his length into her mouth, eliciting another gasp, this one followed by a guttural moan. His hands tightened in her hair. “Cait, no.”

 

“No?” she asked, confused by his refusal.

 

“Not that it's not exquisite, but if you keep that up...” his voice trailed off, letting her figure out the rest. “That's not what I want. I want to come inside you.”

 

Caitlin moved back up to lay beside him, and he dipped his head, his mouth tasting one breast while thumb and fingers worked the second. She giggled. “That tickles!”

 

“Oh? Good tickle or bad tickle?” he asked, again rubbing his mustache across her hardening nipple.

 

“Good. Definitely good.”

 

His hand left her breast, instead slipping between her legs. Slick with her juices, he stroked her clit, and a long finger slid inside her, soon joined by a second.

 

She tried to swallow the moan, but it escaped her, long and throaty. He knew exactly what he was doing; how much pressure to use, how much to curl his fingers. Almost as if they had a mind of their own, Caitlin felt her muscles tightening. Suddenly his lips were on hers, hard, insistent, demanding, the secondary contact only intensifying the explosion that ripped through her.

 

Caitlin had never had a man do that to her, make her come that fast and hard with just his fingers. “That was incredible,” she said, when she could finally speak.

 

He chuckled against her ear. “If you enjoyed the appetizer, wait till you try the entree.”

 

“I'm not sure I'll survive the entree.”

 

That brought another laugh from him. “What's your preference, on top or on your back?”

 

She didn't need to think about it. She wanted his weight on her, she wanted to feel him driving into her. “On my back.”

 

Caitlin rolled onto her back, pulling him with her. He moved between her legs and she reached for his length, guiding him to her entrance. Michael slid into her with agonizing slowness, and she raised her knees, wrapping her legs around his hips, pulling him deeper within her. His mouth found hers as he began to move, setting a slow, steady rhythm that she matched stroke for stroke.

 

They fit together in ways she never would have imagined, her hands on his shoulders, pulling him down hard against her. He increased the tempo, his lips more frantic on her own, and she knew he was as close as she was.

 

“Let go. Let go. Come with me,” she breathed into his ear.

 

The groan came from somewhere deep inside him. “God, Cait... He bucked against her, triggering her own orgasm.

 

It seemed to last forever, a wave of heat and passion spreading through her leaving her weak and shaking. She might have called his name, she might have screamed. She wasn't sure and she didn't care.

 

Rolling off of her, he collapsed beside her, his breathing as rough and ragged as her own. She snuggled against his side. “That was some entree.”

 

He laughed, reaching across to stroke her cheek. “It was, wasn't it? I suppose you'll be wanting dessert?”

 

Caitlin leaned over to give him a kiss. “I don't think either of us has room for dessert.”

 

-*- -*- -*-

 

She laid in the darkness listening the even beat of Michael's breathing, knowing he was asleep, wishing she could join him in peaceful slumber. Her restless mind wouldn't allow it.

 

Caitlin rolled to face him. The moon had moved across the sky, and it's rays filtered through the window, touching him with the faintest hint of light. It was enough, barely, to reveal a shadowed mark just below his left brow, undoubtedly the injury that had cost him his eye. She wondered how many other scars there were, ones too shallow for her hands to find.

 

He scared her. The way he made her feel scared her. She wanted him, in ways she had never wanted anyone ever before.

 

She sighed. They had the rest of the weekend, or at least until Markov made an appearance. After that was anyone's guess. Could she go back to the status quo, pretending that none of this had ever happened? Could she look at Michael without her expression giving her away, without String and Dom realizing? She wasn't sure. Only one thing was for certain.

 

_Her life had just become infinitely more complicated. _

**Author's Note:**

> Airwolf isn't mine - unfortunately.
> 
> Written for Porn Battle round 9 at http://battle.oxoniensis.org/  
> Prompts - first time, scars


End file.
